Living A Nightmare
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, the tag for 'In My Time of Dying', 2x1. Wincest. Canon character death.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'In My Time of Dying', it belongs to Eric Kripke.**

****Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)****

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><p>"Dean, are you here?" Sam feels stupid for even asking. It isn't like Dean could answer him anyway, not without the Ouija board. He can't feel Dean anymore, either. Before, somehow, he just knew Dean was there. He could smell him, or <em>almost<em> hear him, or maybe just plain feel him. For his whole life, Sam's just felt _different_ inside whenever Dean's not there. It isn't something he's really noticed that much until now, but it was like a slap in the face once he did notice it. Dean was there, he could just tell. He can't tell anymore, and that's scaring him even more than everything else.

Dean looks so small in the hospital bed. Sam remembers that from the last time he was in one, only a few months ago and Sam really doesn't think it's anywhere close to fair that he's had to deal with this twice in such a short time. Dean means everything to him, and seeing him hooked up to machines, hanging so close to being taken away from Sam forever, it's like it sucks all the oxygen out of the room. Sam doesn't remember how to keep breathing.

"I couldn't find anything in the book," he says, his voice pathetically flat and disheartened even to his own ears. "I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, alright? As long as you keep fighting."

Dean's chest rises and falls evenly as the machines make him breathe, and Sam blinks back tears.

"I mean, c'mon, you can't leave me here alone with Dad, we'll kill each other, you know that." It's a ridiculous attempt at a joke and it does nothing to dissipate the big, black hole of misery Sam's currently drowning in. If anything, it just makes it worse. "Dean you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just startin' to be brothers again. Can you hear me?"

He doesn't answer; Sam wasn't expecting him to, but it hurts anyway. Every minute that ticks by without Dean opening his eyes is agony. He sits down on the edge of the bed, trailing his fingers over the cold skin on Dean's arm. There's nothing, no tiny twitches of muscle or goosebumps or anything to indicate that Dean felt that at all. It's like he's already gone. He's just a body, just a shell with nothing left inside, and Sam can't stop the tears from streaming down his face.

"Please," he whispers brokenly. "Dean, you gotta wake up. I need you, okay? I already lost Jess, I can't lose you too. She … I loved her, so much, and it's like … no matter what I do, I'm never gonna get over her being taken from me. But you? Dean, if I lost you, it would be … god, just, a million times worse. I don't know how to keep going without you, I _can't_."

Again, Dean doesn't respond, and Sam wipes angrily at the tears on his face and stands back up. His chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, like all his organs are getting squished and broken and he really doesn't even care. And then, Dean moves. He sucks in a huge gasp of air and then chokes on it.

Sam's heart leaps into his throat. "Dean?" he asks, more of an instinct than an actual question, and then when Dean just keeps choking, Sam screams out the open door for help.

Through the flurry of doctors and nurses and charts and blood tests and x-rays, Sam doesn't actually get a chance to talk to his brother. He stands against the far wall, out of the way of the activity and just breathes, just lets himself marinate in the fact that Dean's alive, that he's okay, and that Sam's heart still has a reason to keep beating. It doesn't feel real, it feels like it's all happening in slow motion and Sam's watching it from somewhere far away. In a way it feels good, like a clamp had been around his windpipe all the time Dean was in a coma and it's finally loosened. But it's more than he could've hoped for that Dean woke up at all, so Sam just lets the doctors and nurses do their job while he stands there in the corner and breathes.

Eventually, everyone clears out except the doctor Sam spoke to earlier, who pats Dean gently on the shoulder. "We'll still need to wait for those test results, just to be sure, but it looks to me like you're going to be alright."

"Okay," Dean answers, and the doctor nods.

"I'm gonna go take a look at those x-rays, I'll come back in a bit to check on you," he says with a warm smile.

"Thanks," Sam mumbles. He returns the doctor's smile but he just wants him gone as fast as possible.

He scribbles something in Dean's chart and reattaches it to the bar at the foot of the bed, and then he leaves and Sam's never been so happy to watch somebody walk away. He shuts the door behind him and turns back to his brother. Dean grins, his eyes soft and fond even though they're encircled by dark shadows. He holds out his hand and Sam loses it. He's so happy Dean's okay, it's overwhelming. He's not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. He takes a few big steps and sits down on the bed near Dean's hip. Dean slides his fingers through Sam's and squeezes his hand. There are a million things Sam wants to say but they all get stuck in his throat so he just crumbles – leans down and rests his head on Dean's shoulder. He tries not to put any pressure on Dean's stitches but Dean doesn't seem to care about that; he wraps his arms around Sam's back and pulls him in closer.

"I almost lost you," Sam whispers brokenly, pressing his forehead into Dean's neck. "I don't know what I would've done."

"You didn't," Dean whispers back. He tangles his fingers into Sam's hair, the other hand rubbing up and down Sam's back. "You didn't, okay? I'm right here."

"I can't keep doing this," Sam admits, tears prickling his eyes and choking him. "How many more times am I gonna have to stare at your lifeless body in some hospital bed, never knowing if there's anything left inside you, if you're gonna come back to me?"

"Shh," Dean soothes, hugging Sam a little tighter. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's not up to you," Sam protests, lifting his head up so he can see Dean's face. His heart is racing and he's getting worked up but he can't help it. "We were in a _car accident_, Dean, it's not like you had any control over that! You were in a coma for days, you crashed like three times! I had to watch them use that defibrillator thing on you, I had to hear the sound of you flat-lining! Do you have any idea what that was like for me?"

"Okay, okay, take it easy!" Dean cries. He cups Sam's face in his hands and kisses him, probably just to shut him up but Sam lets him anyway. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to yell at someone when they're in the hospital, asshole."

Sam sighs. "Yeah. Sorry, I just …"

"I know." Dean gently pushes Sam's head back down onto his shoulder. "Everything's gonna be alright, Sammy."

It's stupid how easy everything seems when Dean says that.

"They wouldn't tell me anything," Sam says softly.

"What?"

"We, uh … when the paramedics came. I guess the truck driver called 911 after the demon left, they sent a helicopter and everything, air-lifted us outta there." There are tears stinging Sam's eyes again but he doesn't even try to hold them back. "We were on stretchers, and you and Dad were out cold, and I kept asking if you were okay, but they wouldn't tell me. All the way back to the hospital, I kept begging them to tell me if my brother was alive, and they wouldn't."

"M'sorry," Dean whispers, and it's on the tip of Sam's tongue to tell him it isn't his fault but the words die in his throat. "Hey, are you okay? Were you okay?"

Sam nods, sitting up so he isn't squishing Dean into the mattress anymore, but not letting go of his hand. "A little banged up, but I'm fine. You got the worst of it. Probably 'cause that damn demon had already ripped you to shreds."

"You didn't shoot him," Dean says, his eyes a little glassy when Sam glances at him. "Dad was telling you to end it, and you didn't."

"You told me not to."

Dean's face breaks into a smile. "You picked a hell of a time to finally start listenin' to me."

Sam smiles back and shrugs a little. "We'll get him. Wouldn't've been worth losing Dad over, right?"

"Oh, Dad!" Dean cries, like he's just remembered something. "Is he …?"

"He's fine," Sam says quickly. "Broken arm and a concussion. Wait, you … you don't remember?"

Dean frowns and cocks his head to the side.

"You were here, you were like a spirit or something."

"What're you talking about?"

"You don't remember," Sam says again, and Dean shakes his head. "When, um … it first happened when you were crashing. I was watching them trying to bring you back, and then … I don't know, it was like I could just feel you all of a sudden. I was looking at you in the bed but then it felt like you were standing right beside me."

"What, like, because of your psychic thing?"

"I don't know," Sam answers, straining to remember. It was less than a day ago but it already feels like a year has passed since then. "I just knew you were there, I don't know how I knew it but I did. So I got an Ouija board, figured it was worth a try, and it worked, you talked to me."

Dean's eyes widen. "Seriously? Dude, I didn't think those things actually worked."

"Neither did I. It did, though. The thing moved, I asked you if you were here and it moved to 'yes'."

"That's crazy," Dean says, blowing out a breath and shaking his head. "That … wow. That's kind of amazing."

"Yeah. It was, it …" Sam trails off, but Dean tugs him a little closer so he can reach up and brush Sam's hair out of his eyes.

"It was what?" he asks softly.

Sam shrugs and sniffs as a fresh wave of emotion curls in his stomach. "Just been a really shitty couple'a days. Looking at you in this bed, not even breathing on your own, it was like … I couldn't even think straight. All I kept thinking about was hearing your voice and seeing you smile and that I might never get to again. And then when I felt you, when the Ouija board worked, it was like this huge weight got lifted. Like you were still here somewhere, trying to come back to me. I know it's stupid."

"Not stupid," Dean whispers. He tugs gently on the collar on Sam's shirt, and Sam lets Dean pull him down for another kiss. "I don't remember it, but where ever I was I'm sure I was fighting like hell to get back to you."

"You said there was a reaper after you," Sam tells him. "Said you were hunting it, trying to stop it from taking you, I guess."

"Even as a ghost I'm badass," Dean says smugly, and Sam laughs.

"Even as a ghost you're a stubborn bastard," he corrects, but then there's a knock at the door and their conversation is cut short.

"Everything okay in here?" the doctor asks as he steps into the room.

Sam jumps up quickly in what's probably a very lame attempt to pretend he wasn't just sitting on the bed holding his brother's hand, but if the doctor notices, he doesn't mention it.

"We're fine," Dean answers with a smile for the doctor and a tiny glance in Sam's direction that Sam interprets as _good thing he didn't walk in a minute ago when we were kissing_.

"I can't explain it," the doctor continues, flipping open Dean's chart. "The edema's vanished, the internal contusions are healed, your vitals are good. You gotta have some kinda angel watching over you."

"Thanks, Doc," Dean says quietly, and then with another slightly baffled smile, the doctor leaves again. Once he's gone, Dean looks back at Sam and frowns. "So you said a reaper was after me?"

"Yeah."

"How'd I ditch it?"

"You got me. Dean, you really don't remember anything?"

Dean shakes his head. "No. Except this pit in my stomach. Sam, somethin's wrong."

Another knock at the door interrupts them again, this time it's Dad, smiling at them and looking just as happy as Sam feels to see Dean awake.

"How you feelin', dude?" he asks.

"Fine, I guess," Dean answers. "M'alive."

"That's what matters."

"Where were you last night?" Sam asks.

"I had some things to take care of," Dad says, in that annoyingly vague way of his, like he thinks his own sons aren't worthy of his privileged information.

"That's specific," Sam mutters.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean moans, but Sam ignores him.

"Did you go after the demon?"

Dad sighs. "No."

"Y'know, why don't I believe you right now?" Sam snaps.

"Can we not fight?" Dad asks heavily, stepping into the room with a strangely peaceful expression on his face that Sam doesn't think he's ever seen before. "Y'know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fightin' about. We're just buttin' heads. Look, Sammy, I've … I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't wanna fight anymore, okay?"

"Dad, are you alright?" Sam asks warily.

Dad smiles, and it might be the first true smile Sam's ever seen on the man's face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, Sammy, would you mind, uh, would you mind gettin' me a cup'a caffeine?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, yeah sure."

He leaves Dad alone with Dean in his room, but he doesn't feel right about it. There's something going on, something was _off_ with Dad and it really bothers Sam that he doesn't know what it was. All things considered, it shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is when Sam passes Dad's room on the way back and finds him motionless on the floor with a pool of blood soaked through the front of his shirt. It is a surprise, though, and the moment Sam sees it, everything spins and flips and stutters to a bone-crushing halt.


End file.
